


some roads lead nowhere

by winterwinds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwinds/pseuds/winterwinds
Summary: He sees it. He sees everything the moment he looks into her eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do own the words, however. episode title from a song by Matthew Ryan.

**I. what he had**

Dean Winchester had never been in love. He didn't know if he'd ever be. But what hurt the most was what he one day could have had; could have felt if time was on his side, on their side. He had deliberately distanced himself from her because he was all bad luck and a broken mess and he didn't think anyone would like to try and pick up the fallen pieces, because he sure as hell didn't have the time or energy to. He dealt with whatever nightmares by drinking cheap whisky and that was it. Besides, Jo Harvelle deserved better, always had.

That's what he told himself, a little voice at the very back of his mind reassuring him that she would always be better off if she steered clear of him. And he kept her there, kept her locked in a small space at the very back of his consciousness, because if he didn't, he'd break and that was something neither could afford. Had he given in he'd grab his phone, find her number, he'd probably even push that green little phone but in the end, he'd hang up. Waste of time and a whole lot of unnecessary crap to deal with.

So there she'd be, somewhere at the back of his mind and he'd bury his guilt, wouldn't let himself think of Ellen either, because after everything he'd done, after what he had become in Hell, they'd be better off without knowing him at all. They'd do best if they were left out of it all.

So it was unexpected to find her and Ellen in River Pass of all places, and that's how quickly she appeared in his life again, just a passing breeze, but lingering all the same. They hadn't seen each other in more than three years (or, in his case, another four decades) and who he saw that day surprised him because she had grown. She was beautiful.

There still wasn't time, though.

There was Sam, and the parting of their ways. There were Archangels to find, there was Castiel who made him laugh and there was an Apocalypse to deal with and that was life.

One night, in the very dead of night, he'd had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning. It had come to a point where he couldn't take it anymore so he'd gotten out of bed, poured himself a glass of water and grabbed his cell-phone. He'd skimmed through his caller ID list and found her name. He had then looked at it until the screen turned black, just thinking about her, about whatever details he could remember. Then he simply shut his phone and went to bed.

For some reason, he managed to sleep through the night.

**II. what he one day might have had**

_He sees it. He sees everything the moment he looks into her eyes. Everything they one day could have had, when the Apocalypse was over, when it all was over. In that moment, during those brief seconds that he looks into her eyes, he allows himself to dream and he smiles._

They'd have a house in Nebraska, nothing fancy, but something livable. A house painted white. They'd have a porch, of all things, where they'd sit on slow days, just looking out across the landscape and the dusty road that would lead to their isolated home.

They would never give up the job entirely, he knew that. They were too stubborn and messed up to leave something like that behind. They had saved the world from the fricking Apocalypse, sure, but there would always be something else out there, that was just the way it was. There would always be a job.

They'd have Sammy over. And Ellen, occasionally, as well as Bobby, and they'd stay with him and Jo for days at a time, until it started to get crammed and they started to bicker between each other. Then they'd say 'Bye, see you in a couple of weeks. Make sure to call'.

Whenever Dean would head out on a job with Sam, he'd insist to have Ellen over. Jo would sigh, but not complain, because who was she kidding? She loved having her mother over, especially now that she didn't see her that often.

It'd peaceful; it'd be everything Dean had wished for.

On a warm day, tired after a long drive, he'd come home to find Jo vomiting in the bathroom and he'd rush to her side and he'd ask what was wrong and she'd say – throat dry – 'I'm pregnant, you idiot'. He'd frown, not sure what to say, but when he'd sense Jo's insecurity, he'd look at her and he would smile. A tiny smile, a hopeful smile.

She'd smile back but then she'd throw up again and she'd groan. He would have sat with her until she felt better.

Dean smiles at the image of a pregnant Jo out on the porch, reading a book aloud (it's no fairytale book she's reading either; more like one of Bobby's old books with translated Greek poems in them). He probably wouldn't have walked out to her. He'd kept to the shadows and he'd listen to her voice.

There would be days when he'd feel restless. There would be days when she'd be angry at him for not doing this, or not doing that, and he would want to leave for a while, because that was the only way he knew how to deal with things. By fleeing. Jo would probably cry, hormones just messing with her. And he'd feel bad, but he'd leave anyways, just a stroll around the house. Sometimes he'd go out and sit silently in his Impala. In the end, he'd walk in, walk over to her where she sat still sobbing and he'd kiss her on her forehead and sometimes she'd lean in, other times not.

He thinks they would have had a girl. For some reason, that's all he sees. They'd probably name her Mary after his mother. Mary Ellen. They were cheesy like that. She'd have Jo's dark eyes and his shade of dark blonde hair. She'd be stubborn. She'd ignore her mother when it was time to come in and eat and she'd hide from her father when he'd try to get her to wash her hands before dinner.

Some days, she would come home from school angry because a boy had been mean to another boy. She'd told him off and all, but she was still bothered by it. She would not abide by rules she thought unjust. And if she had to, she'd fight for what she believed was right.

They'd eventually move someplace else, not so secluded, because Mary needed a life around people. They were all in need of human interaction. And sometimes, Dean would head off with Sammy (who had a girl he hadn't yet introduced to the family) and they'd work, or they'd drive off for a beer and they would be happy with each other for a change. Content.

He'd come home in the dead of night, sneaking up the stairs of their new home (also with a porch, but not as big as their old one) and he'd get into bed carefully, not wanting to wake Jo up. She would never wake up, a heavy sleeper. He'd look at her briefly, then he'd press his lips lightly against her forehead or her hair and he'd go to bed, fall asleep almost immediately (the nightmares were scarcer nowadays).

He would have loved every second of it.

_They could have had something if they'd been given the time. It all becomes clear as he looks into her eyes. He's framing her face – her bloodstained cheeks unnaturally pale – and he leans in for a kiss and she responds. She must have seen something too. It's brief but it's perfect. It's bittersweet because it's their first and last kiss and God (…or whoever) only knows how many they could have shared if this day hadn't happened; if she and Ellen hadn't come along._

_It hurts, realizing it now, now when it's too late. But he's decided on something: he'll never again keep her locked away somewhere in his mind. Even if it hurts, he'll think of her and he'll secretly wish that one day they'll meet again._

_That's all he can hope for, really._


End file.
